Two Days of Meetings

In Atlanta, where it was hot. Brutally, upsettingly hot. Not that it mattered, since I only left the hotel once.

Originally I was going to share only one favorite bit of corporate-speak. But that was before corporate-speak blossomed on day 2, and I gathered a few more items.

I'll admit it's a little unfair. Lots of people invested lots of effort into putting together a positive, forward-looking experience. And it wasn't a total wash; I actually used my brain a couple times (to problem solve, mediate, whatever). And I finally met people face-to-face I've been working with for more than a year. And some worthwhile information was conferred. And I hung out with a coworker who's validly a good friend and otherwise I don't see much because we're in different cities.

And lots of the people who say these things realize they're ludicrous outside the aura of a PowerPoint presentation.

And yet, and yet, and yet...


"We bring to the table some special sauce."

"If you're talking about operationalizing a glossary, that's interesting."

"And maybe it is a pig. But sometimes you want pork."

(I actually missed that last one; it was supplied by the friend.)


I was way too amused by BAU as an acronym for Business As Usual. Did other people know about this? Was I just ignorant until now? I want to call my cubicle the BAUhaus and find a suitable chair for it.

The funniest moment (to me, in my brain) was on day 2 when "Don't work harder - Work smarter!" popped up on a slide about managerial skills. Of course my first thought was, I love DuckTales too! Then I spent an hour wondering if Launchpad McQuack finally killed himself or a passenger, or if Webbigail ever chose a nephew, or if there might be anything in the Junior Woodchucks' Guidebook we could use to cut travel expenses...

Not that I should scoff. If that advice worked for Scrooge McDuck's fledgeling shoeshine business, it should be good enough for us. Anybody have a lucky dime?

Shattup about Yer iPod

The last thing I want to do is add to the legions upon legions of iPod blog posts on the web, but...

You know how it is when you're driving to work after a long weekend away from cell coverage and not on call for the first time in a month? It's unpleasant. (I mean the commute is unpleasant; the weekend was great.) My iPod was still on shuffle from the drive back from Wisconsin, and I swear it was trying to cheer me up, helpful little creature that it is.

This little set was so successful, I felt it was worth noting:


Yo La Tengo - Let's Save Tony Orlando's House (from And then nothing turned itself inside-out)

Ben Schwendener / Uwe Steinmetz - June 13th (from Apfelschaun)

Yo La Tengo - Season of the Shark (from Summer Sun)

The Magnetic Fields - Take Ecstasy with Me (from Holiday)

2 Snapshots

From the drive up to Wisconsin, where the wife and I spent a delightful weekend with family, blissfully out of cell phone coverage...

1.

(Passing a pickup truck)

TW: "Hey, G-d's pro-life. Isn't that great?"
Me: "Where's that?"
TW: "Bumper sticker on that truck."
Me: "If G-d's pro-life, why did He invent death?"


2.

(Passing a sign that read "Gusty Winds on Bridge")

TW: "Hey, this bridge has gusty winds. 'Gusty Winds' sounds like it wants to be a stripper name but isn't."
Me: "That's... so... right..."

Fall 2005, again, or: I'm sorry, Terry.

When I mentioned earlier the paltry amount of summer movies I was looking forward to, I forgot to mention a few. At least two, though I stand by what I said about diminished expectations.

But the possibility that Tim Burton will be back in form for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is enough to put me in a theater. (Plus the wife is completely obsessed with it already.)

The same sufficiency works for Terry Gilliam getting to make any movie at all, in this case The Brothers Grimm -- especially after seeing Lost in La Mancha. Usually Monty Python members make me laugh, but that was just painful. The whole time I kept hoping that somebody would give Mr. Gilliam a hot chocolate and a nice sofa for a little time out. Sure he'd probably prefer tea, but in my mind he needed cocoa.


Of course this time that's all preamble to mention a Mirrormask teaser scene available here. At this point I can't say how much I'm looking forward to seeing it on a big screen instead of these tiny browser windows.

Just oddities

Why hasn't anybody codified a system of officomancy yet? A way of reading curious signs and signals at the workplace to see what's really going on -- some days it would be dead useful.

When I arrived at work today somebody had parked their Ford Focus in the middle of two aisles of cars. But right in the middle, very purposefully, in precisely the same orientation as the other parked cars but in exactly the wrong place. Blocking cars in front and in back while neatly cutting off a whole driving corridor. The sort of thing you'd look at and say, "Ass." Personally I think somebody's cracking up.

Inside the building, the constant swirl of moving cubicles around mine brought three new neighbors. (Sometimes I wonder if anybody realizes I sit here, and if someday I'll be asked me to move to the basement without my stapler.) All three new neighbors are wearing the exact same white golf shirt, and a bit ago somebody else in the same shirt dropped by to talk to them. It's eerie.

I'm sure to an outside observer these might seem to be innocent coincidences or only mildly curious events, but I wonder (out of boredom if nothing else) if there's something more sinister at work.

Porn as Modifier

Given how "food porn," "wedding porn," and "ski porn" are accepted as actual terms, I wonder if we'll need to start using "porn porn" to talk about smut.

Craptacular Craptacular

When I received an email from my boss saying that my employer was sending people to see the penultimate episode of American Idol 4, live in LA, and that he wanted me to go as a reward for all of my "hard work and effort" (not sarcasm quotes, just what he said) on the AI4 project, I figured it was a joke. There was the sheer cost, and what kind of suck-ass award is a mediocre pop-crap-singing talent competition? I figured I was done with those once I left high school.

It's not a show I follow. It's not an event I'd pay for. It's not something I have any interest in. But given the chance to go for free I felt weirdly compelled.


To see it.

To see it suck.

To see it suck in person.


Here's a sketch of what the trip was like and what my week turned into to accommodate it (with respect to the massive piles of work that have been landing on my desk lately).

Work Monday. Then work a Monday night maintenance window, midnight to 1 am. Nap. Wake at 3:45 to get to O'Hare for 6 am flight (4 hours). Land at LAX, 8 am PST. Wait in airport for 2 hours for coworkers. Drive to hotel. Log in, do work. Leave hotel for lunch with coworkers. Eat bland chicken sandwich at Hooters. (It's an industry thing, I think. Also worth mentioning that the guy who had a burger was sick 8 hours later. Coincidence? Hooters -- it's not about the food, people.) Wander around with coworkers who have a goal of drinking Bud Light and Miller Lite all day, which I do not share. Observe their difficulty finding a bar on Sunset. Eventually separate to wander the AI4-area circus by myself and check out the media pit. Attend American Idol live broadcast. Afterwards walk for leagues with coworkers to satisfy one's need for a dinner consisting of a burger and more cat-piss beer. Eventually separate again after bland dinner, back to hotel to talk to the wife and pack. Nap. Wake at 4:45 to get to LAX for 8 am flight (4 hours). Work like mad during remaining weekdays to make up for lost time. Also work maintenance windows Wednesday night (11 pm to 1 am), Thursday night (11 pm to 6 am), and Friday night (11 pm to midnight). Afterwards feel like I was beaten with a pool cue.


I was explaining the travel schedule to a friend who said, "So, as a reward, you were punished." ... "Yes." And he laughed. Again.

Clearly any idea of avoiding work for 2 days was a brutal miscalculation on my part. It just waited, made friends, and they all ganged up on me.


But enough self pity. There's a lesson there for me, but I'm sure it's not why you're reading this.

Here are some notes and observations I jotted down during my day in LA. (Any inaccuracies are the fault of my imperfect memory and the time that elapsed before typing these up. Or possibly they're delusions my brain generated to save me from a more terrifying reality.)


Los Angeles, May 24, 2004. All times PST.


2:05 pm. Mall fawning at eliminated idols. A mass of people are circled around a media pit in the open-air courtyard of a mall adjoining both the Kodak Theater and my hotel (on different sides). Local media people tape reports on and interviews with eliminated idols, and the would-be idols wander the pit and interact with the throng over Jersey barriers. Hugs and photos mostly, and the crowd shouts names in unison as new idols appear. I take some pictures of the mass.


2:15 pm. Turning down free tickets to Jimmy Kimmel Live feels nothing like personal triumph or empowerment. (Offered on the street, how sad.)


2:25 pm. March of the Seat Filler Asses. They had been lined up literally around a full city block, down the street from the theater, filling the entire sidewalk, corralled by all-black-clad, headphone-sporting mediated handlers since at least noon. (Likely earlier; I only arrived at noon.) They all look so happy and well-primped!


2:35 pm. If I thought I was being stalkerish taking pictures of the wanna-be idols in the media pit from above... A woman, 30-something, possibly attractive in a dark, icky, overmade-but-still-athletic way, following Constantine through the mall to the hotel's side door, making the devil metal sign at him (index and pinkie fingers). He returns the metal sign. She's carrying a 3-4 year old boy, plus a 7-9 year old boy trailing. As Constantine's bundled into the hotel by two handlers and retreats into the distance, she stays at the glass of the door watching and repeating, "So goddamn cute... So fucking cute..." like a mantra. I personally believe in genetic determinism, but she may well have just turned her younger son gay.


2:45 pm. Actual conversation between me and a hotel employee in the elevator:

"So is today especially bizarre, or is this actually pretty normal here?"
"I don't really know, it's my first day."
"Good choice."
"...Yeah."


3:00 pm. A question: Do Hawaiian shirts increase in frequency with proximity to Hawaii?


4:30 pm. My ass is in my seat in the Kodak Theater, in the first row of the third mezzanine. The stage, well below, is gaudy as all hell, blinding fluorescent aqua lights. The house PA is pumping out "Play That Funky Music, White Boy." ...Ironically? A pair of tiny mosh pits (well, "mosh pits") are forming to either side of the front of the stage with many, many camera flashes going off in each. There's a live band for this? How un-karaoke of them, but I see a tuba bell in one of the orchestra pits behind the stage.


4:35 pm. The first sign I notice supports Bo on bright orange poster board. As soon as I notice one I notice many, many others.


4:40 pm. Screaming begins as audience fluffer Corey takes the stage. Corey's the whitest of white boys acting black, sort of a cross between a Bar Mitzvah DJ who's only 16 himself, trying desperately to be hip, and the Disney World presenter with the most street cred. Corey gives a "Yea-Ah!" whoop and whips the audience into a screaming frenzy with the promise of 3 songs each from Bo and Carrie.


4:45 pm. Further frenzy. The house PA has moved on to that "Don't stop till you get enough" song, and several more "Yea-Ah" whoops from Corey. He practiced that; I can tell. Corey invites people to dance along to his "Yea-Ah!"


4:56 pm. Now it's the "I like big butts" song on the PA, and a massively, massively pregnant girl in her early 20s dressed in a sports bra and short-shorts (both black, you know, to be tasteful) is walking through my row trailing her boyfriend, who acts like all is well. This puts her giant naked pregnant belly right at eye level, and I can't tell you how disturbingly skeevy it is. Judges are introduced.


4:58 pm. Corey yells, "Bring the drama," and Ryan Seacrest is introduced. For anybody waiting for Ryan Seacrest to go away, let me say now it won't ever happen. He only says about twelve words before the show starts, but the whole theater is silent and utterly attentive. From the stage, he comes off as sincere and enthusiastic without being over the top. It's not at all what I was expecting.


4:59 pm. People are really, really into this. My drunk co-workers are acting like asses, and people immediately start yelling and swearing at them to shut them up. People who take this seriously and paid money to be here -- why, I will never understand.


5:05 pm. Right into it with Bo's first song ("Long Long Road"?). The audience is deafening, then suddenly and shockingly respectful (silent). Do people actually listen to this music?


5:08 pm. Judges go right into Bo, and the audience absolutely lashes into the judges. Bo apparently has strong support here tonight.


5:14 pm. First commercial break. The eliminated idols are seated in the front row behind the judges to share and wallow in their collective shame. When Corey goes to mini-interview Anthony, a distinctly male voice yells "I love you, Anthony," from an upper balcony, audible to the whole theater. Remarkable how this show is so red state and gay-friendly at the same time.


5:16 pm. Carrie's first song and... Schmaltz! Any thought that the audience would remain respectful of Bo and Carrie has died, and this is not a bad thing. Also steadicams are spooky as hell. They hover in the air, perfectly still, exactly like a solid object shouldn't, while the world moves around and about them in jittery realism. Two wander the stage area at all times. I am hypnotized and miss most of Carrie's song.


5:20 pm. Another commercial. Corey's in the audience asking children if they're from places. That man is a genius. A 10 year old boy from Jersey asks him for backstage passes, he's no fool. Another kid does homework for a living. They really do say the darndest things.


5:25 pm. My heart goes out to the string players in the backing band. I can't even hear the singing over audience screaming; the violins have no chance. I wonder how much people paid to come here to scream over 18 minutes of music while watching Bo and Carrie perform exclusively to the mosh pits and on-stage cameras. If one could figure out monies exchanged for tiny grains of music experienced, I'm sure that ratio would be... sad. Very, very sad.


5:28 pm. Corey's back. This is starting to feel like an evening with Corey. Though if it were billed that way, I doubt it would have quite the same draw.


5:33 pm. Carrie's singing again, and her jingoism leaves me empty. Apparently Simon agrees, as he gives round 2 to Bo.


5:40 pm. A flood of backup singers magically appear for Bo's last song. I've never been to a Neil Diamond concert, but I wonder if it would be like this. Does "I want to be inside your heaven" sound filthy to anybody else? All I can think of is DuJour's "Backdoor Lover" from Josie and the Pussycats.


5:44 pm. Can't hear Simon's analysis over a "You suck!" right behind me. The judges are pretty much completely overwhelmed by audience noise at this point.


5:47 pm. Is this the fifth commercial break? Sixth? Corey's energy is clearly flagging, and he's losing patience with 9 year olds. Is this how he lost the Disney World gig?


5:50 pm. Carrie's third (last) song, and she gets a magical flood of backup singers too. I'm completely ignoring her again. I think the song's about how if somebody could feel what she feels, they'd be the feelingest feelers... With angels and miracles too; she has a lot of bases covered. I'm ready for this to be over. Is it over yet? I've never been to a Celine Dion concert, but I'm starting to wonder if it would be like this.


5:53 pm. Simon is pushing Carrie as the winner -- so wholesome, so timeless... I don't see why he's still invested. At this point he's going to make truckloads of money off both of them regardless of who actually wins.


5:55 pm. Fascinating that the video recap at the end of the show includes the horrific losers who never should've auditioned in the first place. I wonder if that's a nod to the eliminated contestants, to say, "No matter what, you're better than them." Or maybe it's to remind people what they originally tuned in for, that delicious parade of self-delusion and ignorance.


6:05 pm. The Kodak Theater spits me out into the mall, and it's still sunny. Immediately there's a kiosk selling American Idol merchandise. Line the coffers, people. Beautiful.


6:45 pm. Waiting in the lobby of the hotel before dinner, a coworker points out two idol contestants, Nikko and Mikalah. [I think. I had to look them up later.] They're hanging out in the lobby. She looks tired, sitting on some lobby furniture, when a gaggle of 7 year old girls spot her and rush over. She's composed and kind, signing autographs and giving compliments ("Your nails are so pretty!") while dodging heads and limbs as the girls swoop in for hugs or just to touch her.

I realize that's a job I never, ever want. And I hope she likes it, because she brought it on herself.